Distractions
by Lildrusilla
Summary: Merlin Following on from Daydreams Mordred finds Mab rather distracting... MabMordred, largely one sided


_Title: Distractions_

_Rating: Again, M to be safe_

_Pairing: Mab/Mordred - it continues to be great_

_Summary: Follow up to "Daydreams". Mordred finds Mab somewhat... distracting..._

_Author's Note: Another one some of you might have seen before- a sort of follow up to Daydreams._

Later that evening, she still sits there, eyes fixed on that book, seemingly oblivious to the world around her, unknowingly taunting him with her presence, with the way her hair falls in a curtain across her face, shimmering darkly as the flames from the fireplace reflect off it, with the way she tilts her head to the side, so her hair falls away, exposing her throat. Mordred finds his earlier daydreams returning even more vividly, and he has to force himself to stop staring at her and turn back to his food before his mother makes some sort of snide comment about his lack of eating, which somehow always seems more irritating when it comes from her instead of Auntie Mab...

As the evening draws on into night, and the hall grows darker except for the fires that burn around the room, it only gets worse. Mab is the Queen of Darkness, she is in her element at night, and to Mordred, she never looks more beautiful and alluring than when she is half surrounded by darkness, her pale skin standing out starkly from the inky blackness (or near enough) of her surroundings, her inhuman, wolf's eyes glittering out unblinkingly through the dark. And this time, there is nothing to focus his mind on instead- dinner is over, it's too dark for him to read, and Morgan insists that he doesn't practice his archery after dinner, as the screams of pain disturb her rest. There is nothing to take his mind away from the fact that she sits there, only a few steps away from him, unaware of the thoughts and desires running through his head that all revolve around her, unaware that her own lack of awareness almost makes Mordred angry. After all, he adores her, he would do anything for her, and she sits there, as though she doesn't know. She should know. She should know that he loves her, should know that he'll always be loyal to her, should know that the sight of her sitting there in the darkness and the firelight embeds itself into his mind and distracts him, and makes him think about her, and how he would like to see her, touch her... She should know this, and it should be on her mind, too...

As though his thoughts reached her, Mab's head suddenly tilts up from her book, her eyes fixing on Mordred. For a moment, Mordred is almost nervous, but then she smiles at him, that special smile that she only bestow on him, nobody else, because he's her favourite, and he'll become her champion, and beckons him over to her.

Mordred stands, and swaggers over to her, leaning over her shoulder and peering at the pages in the book she points out to him, trying to concentrate as she talks to him of battles and tactics and the history of the Old Ways, and not on the enchanting way that her eyes seem to glow even more this close, and the inviting angle at which her head is tilted, giving him a rather pleasant view of her delicate throat. The nearness, however, only serves to heighten Mordred's distraction, and, unbidden, vivid images begin to appear in his head.

_...a series of black candles provide a dim light in a darkened room..._

_... black silk sheets cover the bed, and her glorious long black hair seems to blend into them..._

The image captures him for a moment, and he wonders whether her hair really does feel like silk. Leaning down further, under the pretence of looking more closely at the book, he allows his hand to brush against her hair and rest there. To his delight, it does feel silky, and soft, and pleasant to the touch, and for a moment he has a childish urge to stroke her hair, and run his fingers through it, but he restrains himself. His hand remains, resting softly against her hair, not daring to move it, for fear she might notice it, and yet, hoping she will at the same time. Mab is still talking to him, and he forces himself to make interested-sounding comments and noises of agreement every so often, whilst allowing the soothing sound of her voice to lull him back into his thoughts.

_...he presses her back against the sheets, insistently but gently, touches her hair almost reverently and runs his fingers through the delicate strands, careful not to tangle them, before moving his hands to her throat, using his fingers to trace it's delicate line, then retracing it with his lips, not quite kissing, barely touching the skin, just enough contact to be noticeable, her head tilts back seemingly of it's own accord so that she is staring towards the room's high ceiling, he brings his hands downwards and grips the neckline of her dress firmly, pulling at the material so that it rips apart..._

Idly, Mordred stares at Mab's dress, wondering how easy it would be to rip apart. She's wearing that blue and black dress with the long cape that he likes to see her in so much. Softly, he reaches through her hair to touch the back of her dress. The material is fine quality, or course, but Mordred can feel that it's also thin, and with his strength, easy to tear.

..._he takes his time tearing off the dress, slowly tearing it down the centre, tracing the path of the ruined material with kisses, proper kisses this time, rather than the simple feather-light touch on her throat, he can hear her giving small sighs as he continues downwards, reaching her waist..._

Ah. That belt could be a problem. It's heavy-looking and metallic, and Mordred can't for the life of him see any sort of clasp or buckle on it. Mordred stares closely at it, half of him hoping that Auntie Mab doesn't notice his eyes tracing the path of the invisible tear in her dress, the other half concentrating on trying to find some way of undoing the belt. He sighs, not finding anything, and mentally skips that part.

_...his hands trace their way back up her body, their touch still fairly light, not wanting to bruise that perfect white skin with his strength, not yet, that will come later, and he can feel her shiver slightly and press her body against his, her hands now on his skin, on his face, on his neck..._

Mab is still talking softly and gesturing at the book, and Mordred almost feels bad for not listening to her properly, but if she will look so deliciously tempting, then what can he do but notice? He leans yet further over Mab's shoulder, pressing himself against her, resting his hand on top of hers and leaning far forward, pretending to be intent on an odd-looking illustration on the page Mab is reading. Mab shifts slightly so that he can see better, and the cool, smooth flesh of her hands and the feel of her body shifting against his brings him back to the images in his head with almost painful intensity.

_... her cool fingers run over his face, leaving cold trails on his rapidly-warming skin, and he closes his eyes blissfully for a moment, before gently catching her wrist with one hand, and drawing himself back up so that his eyes are level with hers, and he lowers his mouth onto hers..._

Mordred glances up towards Mab's face, to her mouth, still softly speaking, watching her lips move, and imagining what her lips would feel like pressed against his, how her kiss would feel, whether it would be soft and gentle, or rough and demanding, or a mixture of both, smiling slightly to himself as he notes that perhaps attempting to test this in reality would not be the wisest way to go about it.

And then it stops, as Mordred blinks and sees that Mab's lips are no longer moving, that she has ceased speaking and is pointing downwards at the book, and is gazing unreadably at him. Mordred freezes for a moment, almost guiltily, and Mab nods towards the page she is pointing to.

"Interesting, isn't it, my sweet?" Could that have been the faintest hint of a challenge in her voice then? Glancing downwards hurriedly, Mordred prepares to make some sort of vaguely agreeable comment, so that he can revisit his daydreams some more, and gives a start as he sees Mab pointing at a blank page. Raising his eyes to meet hers, confusedly, Mordred watches as Mab raises her eyebrow ever so slightly and gives a small, teasing, almost mocking smile. For a moment, Mordred feels the colour rising in his face as he realises that Mab has noticed him staring at her, but part of him feels a sort of... satisfaction. After all, he thinks, part of him has always wanted her to notice, to know what he feels towards her, what he wants... But, he thinks, now is perhaps not the time to admit it openly just yet. He'll play along for now.

He leans even closer towards her, "Enthralling, Auntie," he murmurs quietly.


End file.
